


love and affection

by sharkfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Castiel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Dean, Demisexual Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hunter Dean, M/M, Non-Angel Castiel, Porn With Plot, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, slight D/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean doesn’t know how either of them even notice the ding-open of the elevator doors, but luckily there’s no one waiting for the elevator on floor fourteen. Castiel backs off of Dean, looking as flustered as Dean feels, and doesn’t waste any time dragging him down the hall to the room, where he shoves Dean against the door and kisses him again before even opening it. Castiel murmurs against Dean’s mouth: “I should be more discrete.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“No,” Dean says in between kisses, “you definitely shouldn’t.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s only one other person alone in the dingy-dim bar Dean is drinking at, and that other person is a gorgeous male specimen, wearing a too-big khaki military jacket and with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Still, those blue eyes are something else: cerulean, Dean thinks the matching crayon is called. 

Collecting all the swagger and bluster he has in him, Dean slides off his chair and saunters towards the other man, the half-finished drink in his hand like a lifeline. The other guy looks up and the sweet half-frown that had sat on his mouth the whole time Dean had been watching -- a little too long, honestly, though the guy didn’t seem to notice -- morphs into a real frown. Dean almost backs off, but he’s close enough to the table that it would be even more awkward to veer away, even with that frown. 

“Hey,” he says instead, and he offers his best smile. 

The guy has dark hair that curls softly around his ears. The hat covering most of it has a rooster on the front. Dean almost giggles, but just holds out his hand, a little belated, because this guy’s eyes catch him like a fly in honey. 

“Castiel,” the guy says at last. He shakes Dean’s hand, a firm grip, and then he tilts his head to the side like a bird, squinting and considering. Dean squirms under the inspection. 

“Can I join you?” Dean manages to say without stuttering. He’s never like this with people, even when he’s not sure that his advances are welcome. Dean is usually something that can be described as _cocksure_ , which is maybe the opposite of being a _cockblock._

“If you tell me your name.” 

Ducking his head to hide a blush: “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Castiel.” The name feels strange and foreign in his mouth, too many syllables for a boy from Kansas. Not that they are anywhere near Kansas now. 

Met with intense but silent regard, Dean slides into the chair across the high top from Castiel. At last, Castiel says, “And what do you do, Dean Winchester?”

“For love or money?” 

“Either. Both.” 

Dean is smiling and Castiel is squinting in a way that might be a smile on anyone else. “I’m here on business,” Dean says. “I’m, uh--” _FBI agent_ seems ridiculous, especially in his leather jacket and flannel instead of the suit costume in his trunk. “I’m a headhunter.” 

Castiel nods gravely. “How is the headhunting business these days?” 

“I do ok for myself,” Dean says. 

“I’m here on business as well,” Castiel says. He looks at Dean for a moment longer and Dean shrinks under the scrutiny. Talking to this guy was a terrible idea. No one has made Dean squirm since John Winchester last put angry-drunk eyes on him years ago. “I also do ok for myself.” 

“What do you do?” Dean asks, because it’s the polite thing to say. Really, this isn’t at all what he wants to know. He walked over because he wanted to know Castiel’s mouth, his agile fingers, the body hiding under the bulk of his jacket.

“Do you know who I am?” Castiel asks. 

“Um,” Dean says. It’s his turn to squint. “No, I… should I?” But Dean is sure he would remember eyes like Castiel’s. 

Castiel smiles, for real, showing off his perfect little teeth, and Dean grins back reflexively. “No, Dean. You shouldn’t.” 

Even before Dean consciously recognizes the change in Castiel’s body language, the sharpening of his gaze, Dean is already flushed and hot. As if sensing it -- and Castiel’s eyes get even sharper -- Castiel says, “Would you like to join me in my hotel room?” 

“God, yes,” Dean says. 

 

Unlike the motel Dean paid for in cash, Castiel is staying in a really nice hotel. One that definitely requires a legitimate credit card to make a reservation. For incidentals, a hotel told Dean last time he tried, and the smartly-dressed woman behind the counter had looked down her nose at him (miraculously, considering she was a good foot shorter) like he was exactly the kind of person who would steal a pillow or drink all the tiny bottles of booze. 

Sometimes strangers just know you like that. 

Dean parks the Impala right next to Castiel’s rental in the parking lot, then follows him through a back entrance. “Rockstar privileges,” Dean comments, and Castiel looks at him a little funny, but by the time they make it in the elevator, the look is forgotten -- Castiel crowds Dean up against the mirrored wall with his body, takes the hat off his own head and puts it backwards on Dean’s, and then is kissing him within an inch of his life. 

It’s even better than Dean pictured while admiring Castiel’s frowning mouth from afar, and when their tongues touch, something positively electric rushes down Dean’s spine. He moans into the kiss and it just makes Castiel push up closer to him, the handrail digging painfully into Dean’s back, Castiel’s hands pushed against the wall on either side of Dean’s head to box him in, Castiel lean and lovely under Dean’s hands. 

Dean doesn’t know how either of them even notice the ding-open of the elevator doors, but luckily there’s no one waiting for the elevator on floor fourteen. Castiel backs off of Dean, looking as flustered as Dean feels, and doesn’t waste any time dragging him down the hall to the room, where he shoves Dean against the door and kisses him again before even opening it. Castiel murmurs against Dean’s mouth: “I should be more discrete.” 

“No,” Dean says in between kisses, “you definitely shouldn’t.” 

That makes Castiel smile. Dean basks in it while Castiel fumbles with the keycard. It takes him two tries before he figures out to flip it around, and Dean is antsy as hell by the time the door gets opened. He hasn’t been this ready to get someone naked in a really long time. 

Castiel kicks the door shut behind him, and again, Dean is pressed into a wall and kissed senseless. They’re both achingly hard and grind against each other shamelessly, Castiel’s little gasps qualifying for possibly the hottest thing Dean has ever had the pleasure of hearing, and Dean is moaning against Castiel’s mouth, fucked out of his mind and they haven’t even taken their shirts off. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice going straight to Dean’s cock, “Dean, I want you. Can I have you?” 

“Fuck,” Dean says, and then, “yeah, Cas, yeah.” 

Castiel’s grin is predatory now. “Clothes off. On the bed.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, mostly joking, but the look on Castiel’s face makes him think he should revisit that “sir” thing later. 

Dean gets undressed with hands that are super glad he doesn’t have to undo any more buttons than the ones on his fly that go pop-pop-pop-pop and then his cock is springing out -- laundry day means no underwear -- and Castiel stares him down as Dean makes his way to the bed. Castiel’s hat is in the pile of Dean’s clothes. 

Slowly, while his eyes keep roving over Dean’s body like a goddamn cartographer trying to map the scattering of Dean’s freckles, Castiel strips out of his clothes. His body is lithe and firm and he has the calves of a runner. When his pants come off to reveal the perfect V of his hips, Dean nearly drools all over himself. Holy fuck did he get lucky. And to think, all he’d been looking for tonight was a couple of drinks and a Master Chef Junior marathon. 

“Jesus,” Dean says, not even realizing something has come out of his mouth until Castiel laughs a little, low in his throat in a way that makes Dean’s dick twitch. Great. Now he’s going to get a hard-on every time someone laughs at him for the rest of his life. 

“I could say the same,” Castiel says, crawling up into the bed and over Dean’s body. He holds his mouth a breath away while their bodies find all the places they can touch, both of their eyes fluttering shut when slide across each other in a wet smear. 

“Hey, Cas, hey,” Dean says, and Castiel jerks away, eyes open and face all frowns. 

“Are you ok--”

“Yeah, yeah, I just wanted--” Dean’s eyes trip down Castiel’s body and land on his hard and waiting cock. “I just wanted to suck your cock.” 

Castiel’s pupils blow wide and his voice is rougher than usual when he says, “Please, Dean.” 

They rearrange, Dean clambering to the floor to sit on his knees in between Castiel’s legs. He spends long moments running his fingertips back and forth along the top of Castiel’s thighs, and then leans forward and licks a wet stripe from base to tip of Castiel’s cock. Cas gasps and says his name and Dean presses the heel of his hand into the base of his own cock to stop from getting too worked up before he’s even got Cas’s dick in his mouth, and then he fixes that problem by swallowing Cas down -- halfway at first, then sliding back up before taking as much as he can before his gag reflex protests. Which is a lot, enough that Castiel is fisting his hands in Dean’s hair and tossing his head back. 

“Christ, you’re good at that,” Castiel says. Dean hums a _thank you_ and curls his tongue around the head of Cas’s cock, swallows, pulls out all his best tricks with mouth and hands until Castiel is writhing, until Castiel pulls Dean off by his hair. Cas’s cock is spit-shiny and dark. 

Castiel wrenches Dean’s head back by the hair until Dean looks up at him, licks his lips. He can taste salt, can taste Castiel. It’s so good. Cas looks kind of in awe when he says, “You really don’t know who I am. And you… love sucking cock.”

The hand in his hair stops Dean from ducking his head in embarrassment. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Castiel says. “You’re beautiful.” Staring like he’s looking for something, Castiel pulls Dean upwards and against his mouth, kissing away the taste of himself. “Would you rather fuck me? It really doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Do you have a condom?” 

“Of course.” 

“I--” Blushing now, turned young and stupid by a man with hat hair and eyes so bright they could burn. “I want you to fuck me. Please, Cas.” 

Castiel guides Dean back onto the bed and then they are pressed together again, Castiel reaching between them to give their cocks a few rough strokes, slippery with Dean’s saliva. “That’s the third time you’ve called me ‘Cas.’”

“I’m--fuck, fuck, that feels good -- I’m sorry -- Castiel --”

“I like it,” Castiel says. “Kiss me.” 

They kiss while Cas slowly jerks them off, mostly just keeping their stomach muscles jumping and shuddering but not building any real heat, and then he’s pulling away -- regretfully -- to dig through a duffel bag on the chair next to the bed. He comes back triumphant with a bottle of lube and a condom. Dean can’t wait to get those fingers inside him, says it and makes Castiel stare at him in surprised awe again, and Dean grabs Castiel by the shoulders and kisses him at the first press of Castiel’s fingers, and before long Dean is writhing again, pushing himself back on Castiel’s fingers and moaning in a way he only does when he bottoms, because he doesn’t lose control like this on top. That pleasure is almost clinical compared to three fingers in his ass lighting him up from the inside out. 

By the time he is chanting, “Cas, Cas, Cas,” Castiel has a cheshire grin on his face and is tearing the condom package with one hand and his teeth, the other hand a little busy rubbing circles inside Dean, making Dean’s cock jump and jerk. “Cas,” Dean whines, watching Castiel roll on the condom. 

“Patience,” Castiel says, “I’m coming.” He slowly slides his fingers out and kisses the side of Dean’s knee when he keens again. “Patience, Dean.” 

“I am,” Dean says, as if it’s not a blatant lie. 

Castiel rolls his eyes but keeps smiling, lines his cock up with Dean’s hole and pushes in, slow-slow-slow and then all at once, Dean’s hand slamming back against the headboard as he looks for something to hold onto. “There you go,” Castiel murmurs. 

He strokes in and out slowly a few times until Dean is good and wet, and then Dean really needs something to hold onto because Castiel starts fucking him hard and fast, deceptively strong as he pulls Dean’s hips up farther into his lap for a better angle. Dean cries out at almost every thrust and is glad of it, can feel the wet squelch of skin-on-lube-on-skin and Castiel’s breath on his neck and everything else, every nerve ending like a firecracker under his skin until it almost hurts, until his cock is so hard it does hurt, and he says, “Please, Cas, please,” and Cas knows, always knows. Castiel takes Dean’s cock in his hand and they’ve only been doing this a few minutes but they are the longest of Dean’s life and he comes all between them, biting down on the meat of Cas’s shoulder while he does it like they’re in a thin-walled motel instead of this posh suite. 

Castiel doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking Dean until Dean’s eyes water, until the lube starts to dry up. Just before Dean is actually uncomfortable, Castiel drives in deep and comes with several hot throbs, felt even though the condom, even through the fucked-out bliss Dean is swimming around in. 

For a long time, they both just pant, Dean’s hips canted up into Castiel’s lap in a way that is kind of uncomfortable on his back, and Castiel’s knees are probably locking up, but neither of them bothers to move until the sweat and come is nearly dry. Castiel pulls out slowly, ties off the condom and tosses it in the wastebasket. 

Dean is never sure what to expect in moments like these, but Castiel just tosses himself on the bed next to Dean, shoulder to shoulder, and they breathe in tandem. 

“That was…” Dean starts, not sure how to finish. 

“Fucking fantastic,” Castiel says. Then, brows furrowed, he sits up on an elbow and looks down at Dean. “Right?” 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says, and he swears Castiel’s pupils grow with arousal again before he flops back on his back. 

After a few more minutes, just staring at the ceiling, Castiel says, “Listen, I’ve got to get up really early for a -- a meeting, so --” 

“Oh, right,” Dean says. He rolls out of bed on shaky legs and fumbles around with tissues to clean himself up. 

“Stop,” Castiel says. He grabs Dean and pulls him back towards the bed, back into a kiss that’s long and only adds tongue near the end, mostly just the soft press of lips. How strange. “Can I see you again? I’ll be in town for awhile.” 

Dean grins brightly. “Yeah. Tomorrow night?” 

“Meet me here at nine.” 

Dean whistles all the way back to his motel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Dean,” Castiel says, a smile on his mouth. “It’s good to see you.”_
> 
> _Dean doesn’t answer, just goes through the door and kisses Cas, full and wet and wanting. The door swings shut behind them and Cas lets himself be pushed into the wall, Dean’s hands fumbling underneath his shirt to touch his stomach with its trembling muscles._
> 
> _Dean goes to his neck, sucking and biting along his throat. Castiel is panting against his hair, arching his hips towards Dean’s. Castiel says, “Fuck, you’re prettier than I remembered.”  
> _

Actually, with the case closed, Dean had planned on skipping town, on to the next salt-n-burn or dismemberment, but then Castiel happened. So he can stand to stay in town a few more days, just to see this out. The sex was fantastic. 

Dean spends the day drinking. He hadn’t really meant to do that, but watching bad reality tv sober seems a lot sadder than doing so tipsy. He sticks to beer, though, not wanting to show up to Castiel’s fancy hotel a trashed mess. Just a buzzed mess. Just loose and grinning. 

Castiel opens his door looking incredible in a button-up that matches his eyes and a pair of well-fitted -- expensive -- jeans. His feet are bare. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, a smile on his mouth. “It’s good to see you.” 

Dean doesn’t answer, just goes through the door and kisses Cas, full and wet and wanting. The door swings shut behind them and Cas lets himself be pushed into the wall, Dean’s hands fumbling underneath his shirt to touch his stomach with its trembling muscles. 

Dean goes to his neck, sucking and biting along his throat. Castiel is panting against his hair, arching his hips towards Dean’s. Castiel says, “Fuck, you’re prettier than I remembered.” 

Dean says, voice softer than intended, “You’re so fucking hot, Cas.” 

Cas’s eyes darken. “Clothes off,” he says, “and get on the bed.” 

Dean rushes to obey. Castiel just looks at him while Dean spreads himself out on the bed, loosely stroking his cock a few times to bring it to full hardness. “Look at you,” Cas says. 

“‘m busy looking at you.” 

Castiel crawls onto the bed, fully clothed, and settles himself in between Dean’s knees. Even though he’s watching, Dean is surprised by the first wet swipe of Cas’s tongue at the base of his cock, slipping down to mouth at his balls, making Dean groan, all wrecked already. Women aren’t as good at this, too gentle, never know how to use the other parts of his body to make his nerves sing. But Castiel is sucking, just a shade shy of too rough, on his balls, one and then the other, before he finally moves up to tongue along Dean’s cock in open-mouthed kisses. Dean whimpers. 

“So pretty,” Cas murmurs, right before he takes the head of Dean’s dick in his mouth. Dean whimpers again in an extremely masculine way. “Even though you’re a little drunk.” 

“Mm,” Dean says, trying to control his blush of arousal and also shame. He doesn’t want to turn into his father, but maybe a love for drink will end up his only inheritance. 

Doesn’t matter -- he can’t possibly think about that, not while Cas is sucking his cock, his lips stretched wide and “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Cas, don’t stop, baby -- don’t stop -- fuck --” 

Before he can get a little too into it, Cas pulls off, replacing his mouth with his fist for Dean to fuck up into, and Dean’s just starting to whine when Cas shoves his fingers into Dean’s mouth. 

Dean nearly comes right then. 

“Suck,” Castiel says, like the command is necessary. 

Dean sucks, lavishing his tongue over Cas’s fingers, closing his eyes and getting really into it. When he opens his eyes, Castiel’s are nearly demon black, just a thin ring of blue circling his pupil to show he’s human. 

“You’re perfect,” Cas says, and Dean turns bright red, ready to protest if not for the fingers in his mouth. Castiel seems to sense it and fucks Dean’s mouth with his fingers a little, gentle, distracting. 

And then, without ceremony, he pulls his fingers out of Dean’s mouth and puts one of them in his ass while taking Dean deep enough down to choke a little. It’s perfect, and it’s not long before Dean is grabbing Cas’s shoulder and warning, “I’m going to -- fuck, baby, fuck, I’m going to come, please please please--” not sure what he’s begging for, but Castiel gives it to him, another finger going in his ass while Castiel is fucking his mouth on Dean’s cock, and Dean’s entire body tenses up when he comes down Cas’s throat. 

Cas keeps up what he’s doing, but the movement of his fingers gets softer, just the casual brush past the spot inside Dean that makes him see stars, his mouth just licking lazily over Dean’s softening cock. Dean already wants to get hard again. Wants to fuck Cas until they go hoarse.

“You’re incredible,” Castiel says against Dean’s stomach, lips brushing past the part of Dean that he’s embarrassed to see sometimes, like he’s the only person in the world whose body changed as he aged. 

Dean can’t make words, which is probably a more real agreement that Cas is pretty incredible, too, than any actual verbalizations could be.

Castiel withdraws his fingers and backs off the bed to start taking off his clothes. “When you get your breath back,” he says, watching Dean with that lion look in his eyes, “turn over. Ass up. I’m going to fuck you until you scream.” 

Dean comes undone on Cas’s cock again, sobbing into a pillow, “please please please please fuck, Cas, Cas, please” before Cas reaches around to stroke him with a firm and expert hand. Dean doesn’t quite scream, but he comes as close as he ever has in his life, and the feel of Cas coming through the condom is enough to send Dean dizzy and reeling. After its over he can’t even move, just lies there with his face shoved into the pillow and his ass in the air, lube dripping down the inside of his thighs. 

It isn’t until Castiel puts his hands on Dean to gently turn him down into bed that he moves, and instead of letting him roll over to the other side of the unnecessarily large bed, Castiel pulls Dean against him. It’s definitely a cuddle. 

“Don’t do this,” Dean mutters, pressing his face into the side of Cas’s ribs. “Don’t cuddle.” 

“Ok,” Castiel says, a little smug as he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

It’s a long time later when Dean realizes himself and starts to pull away. “Bet you have an early morning again tomorrow,” he says, shoving himself towards the end of the bed. 

“Get back here.” 

So far, Dean has always obeyed Castiel’s commands, and this isn’t any different. He ends up back with his face pushed into Cas’s ribs, just a kiss away from skin. Dean can hear his heartbeat, the way it starts to slow its pounding to the point where Dean thinks Cas must be asleep. 

Dean sits up on his elbow and stares at Cas. He’s handsome as hell, Dean re-realizes, a man out of dreams. 

“Stop thinking,” Cas says, not opening his eyes. “You seem like an over-thinker.” 

“Nah,” Dean says. 

“Then cuddle me, dammit. It releases some of the same hormones that are released during sex. It feels good. Scientifically.” 

“Who talks about science in bed?” Dean grumbles. 

“People who want their bed partners to man up and cuddle.” 

Eyes still closed, Cas smiles. Dean returns it without meaning to, still trying to keep up a gruff exterior, but Cas’s smile melts all the ice inside him. 

Almost hesitantly, Dean rests back at Castiel’s side, up close to his heartbeat again. It feels intimate, perhaps strangely so considering what they were doing ten minutes ago, when Cas was gripping Dean’s hip with one hand and pressing his face into the pillow with his other. 

“Stay tonight,” Cas says. “We’ll get room service early.” 

Another command for Dean to wordlessly comply with, closing his eyes, thinking just before he falls asleep that this is good, that the bu-bump of heartbeat is soothing. He sleeps soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Whoa there, cowboy,” he says, grinning. “Are we going to get breakfast or fuck again?”_
> 
> _“Fuck again,” Dean says. He grabs Cas around his waist and flips them over._
> 
> _“Brush your teeth first,” Cas says, the little snot._

Dean wakes soundly, too, not pressed up against Cas or anything but holding his hand as they are sprawled next to each other. In sleep, Cas looks like thirty, all the lines on his face smoothed into peaceful. 

“Stop looking at me,” Cas grumbles, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his face. 

“I wasn’t,” Dean says, lying for no reason. 

“Stop talking to me,” Cas grumbles, grabbing another pillow and pulling it over his face, too. 

“Aww,” Dean says, grinning. “Someone a little grumpy in the mornings?” 

Dean reaches for the pillow on top and manages to pull it away before Cas can grab at it, then goes for the second one. Cas holds it over his own face and then wrestle a minute before Cas gives up and pulls the blankets over his head instead. “I said, fuck off, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is lower just-woken-up, and Dean feels it in his stomach. 

“That was a little rude, Castiel,” Dean says. 

Cas peeks out of the covers, his hair ridiculously messy and eyes bleary. “I was just kidding,” he says, almost pouting. 

Dean lets him be tortured for another few beats before saying, “So was I, you dork.” 

“Good. Now stop talking to me.” Cas disappears back under the blankets.

Dean lets him, just reaching his hand underneath until he finds Castiel’s hair and starts gently stroking it, rewarded with the tiniest purrs from an invisible Cas. 

Dean is just dozing off when Castiel wakes up for real. Dean feels the bed dip, hears Cas brushing his teeth, all of it through the haze of sleep, and then Castiel is climbing in the bed to straddle Dean’s thighs to kiss him softly. “Wake up, sunshine,” Cas whispers, rubbing the tips of their noses together. 

“Mm,” Dean says, squirming upwards to find Cas’s mouth again. 

Just as the kiss is starting to get good, Dean reaches for Cas’s thighs to pull him up so they can rub their cocks together, just the sweet heat of a slippery touch. Cas lets Dean pull on his hips, but he breaks out of the kiss. “Whoa there, cowboy,” he says, grinning. “Are we going to get breakfast or fuck again?” 

“Fuck again,” Dean says. He grabs Cas around his waist and flips them over. 

“Brush your teeth first,” Cas says, the little snot. 

“Fair enough,” Dean says. He kisses Cas again just to be a dick, then breaks away to the bathroom. 

Fresh-mouthed, Dean crawls back into the open V of Castiel’s legs. “God, you’re fucking sexy,” Dean says. 

Castiel grins and says, “So I’ve heard.” 

“Oh, very modest, are you?” 

“I don’t see it. But it has been said,” Cas says, shrugging and reaching for Dean, digging his fingertips into Dean’s ribs to pull him closer. “So, about that fucking…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You’re going to get off of me so I can ride your cock.” 

Dean swallows thickly. His voice comes out rougher than usual when he says, “Yeah, Cas, yeah.” 

Hoping to obtain some measure of grace, Dean pulls away from Castiel again, sitting himself against pillows shoved against the headboard. The way Cas sits over his hips is predatory, the way he reaches behind himself with lubed fingers to open himself up for Dean is blasphemy, the way he sinks down on Dean’s cock is ecstasy. “Holy hell, Cas,” Dean says, putting his hands on Cas’s hips, though without any illusion that he’s in charge of what’s happening here. “Holy hell, you’re so fucking hot, does my cock feel good?” 

“Yeah,” Castiel says, grinding slowly in Dean’s lap, just these soft gasps coming out of his mouth. “Do I feel good?” 

“Feel incredible, Cas. Feels, fuck, amazing. Almost as good as when you fuck me into the mattress. Almost.” 

Dean thrusts up when Cas rides down, and soon both of them are panting too much for Dean to keep talking. Instead they kiss, sloppy and spit-heavy, tongues stroking quick and often, eyes low-lidded and on each other. 

“You’re perfect,” Cas murmurs, back to grinding into Dean, Dean’s hipbones cutting into Castiel’s thighs, and Dean is just kind of lost in the primal goodness of it all, just takes the praise like a flower opening up underneath Cas’s sun. 

Cas comes first, fisting his own cock in the same rhythm as he’s fucking himself on Dean’s cock, and just watching the way he throws his head back and groans is enough to set Dean off. 

When Dean comes down, he’s trembling. Cas grabs his hands and grins, laughs, climbs off Dean without letting go of their fingers laced together. “I could do that to you every day,” Castiel says, “and twice on the weekends.” 

“I could let you,” Dean says.

He presses up to Cas in something that is definitely not a cuddle but is very messy and sexy-gross. They lay together for a good quarter hour, at least, before Castiel grabs his phone and sighs. “I’ve got to get up,” he says. 

“Baby,” Dean whines. “It can’t wait?” 

“Unfortunately not. I’m already going to be late.” 

“But we can shower real fast. You can’t go out like this.” 

“Excellent point. I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

They smile at each other, a little sappy, before shaking themselves out of the moment and going for the shower. Somehow, they manage to get out of the hotel room quickly. They part ways at the elevator -- Castiel grabs Dean and kisses him, long and hard, and makes him promise: “Be back tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want it to matter. I haven’t been just me in a long time.”_
> 
> _Dean hasn’t been just himself his whole life. He used to be “John Winchester’s son” and now he’s Dean Winchester, Monster Hunter, which comes with its own worm can of expectations._
> 
> _“I know what you mean,” Dean settles for saying._

In the line at Walgreen’s, buying more condoms, Dean’s eyes glaze over the magazine rack, then sharpen. 

_On the set of THURSDAY with CASTIEL NOVAK and ANNA MILTON_

and a photo of Cas with a demure redhead. 

Dean stares so long the cashier calls “Next, please” twice before he notices. He grabs the magazine and pays the price of a trade paperback for the privilege of reading about CASTIEL NOVAK. 

Castiel, who moaned while sucking Dean’s cock, moaned like he meant it, like he’d never felt something so sharp and good. 

The cashier says, bored-conversationally, “They film that here, you know,” and Dean does his best to smile. 

In his Impala, Dean opens the magazine with sorta-shaking fingers. 

_Novak traded in his Oscar-winning movie cred for a spot on HBO’s Thursday, based on Carver Edlund’s cult book series of the same name._

Dean keeps staring, turning the pages to see pictures of Castiel in a suit, Castiel in a dark leather jacket, Castiel with Anna Milton, molded to each other like lovers. And the article even says: _Novak and Milton have been linked romantically outside of show business, though both have publicly denied the association. Regardless, their chemistry on-screen is riveting._

Just reading the words makes something in Dean’s chest lurch like he might puke. 

 

Castiel opens the door with wet hair and a towel looped over his neck. There’s a grin on his face but it fades when he sees Dean: hands in his pocket, eyes downcast. 

“Are you all right?” Castiel says, stepping back to let Dean in the room. 

Dean has the magazine rolled up in his back pocket. He pulls it out and hands it to Cas, wordless. 

“Oh,” Castiel says. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want it to matter. I haven’t been just me in a long time.” 

Dean hasn’t been just himself his whole life. He used to be “John Winchester’s son” and now he’s Dean Winchester, Monster Hunter, which comes with its own worm can of expectations. 

“I know what you mean,” Dean settles for saying. 

Castiel almost smiles. “Then who are you?” 

“I can’t tell you that, Cas.” 

“That’s ok,” Cas says. He tosses the magazine in the trashcan. “We can just pretend you’re mine.” 

Dean has to bite down on his lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise, especially when Cas presses himself into Dean, mouth against Dean’s neck, licking along the strong tendon on the side, kissing over the pounding of his heartbeat just under his ear. 

Castiel says, voice low, “I thought about fucking you all day long.”

Dean does moan then, his head going backwards and banging against the wall. 

“I love the sounds you make,” Castiel continues. “Love the way you feel on my cock.” 

He pop-pop-pops the buttons on Dean’s jeans and palms Dean’s hardening cock through his boxers. 

“Are you mine tonight? Say it.” 

“I’m yours,” Dean says, arching into Cas’s hand. “I’m yours.” 

Cas grins that shark grin with so many teeth and then kisses Dean, rough, owning, tongues and quick bites. Dean is barely breathing and doesn’t care if he ever does again as long as Cas keeps kissing him. Even the hand on his cock fades to the background when Dean is being kissed like this. Like the end of the world. Like he imagines heaven must be. Like he belongs to Cas. 

He finds, with not an immeasurable amount of horror, that he really likes _belonging_. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, pulling just a breath away, “tell me what you want.” 

“You,” Dean says, without even thinking. And then: “I mean, I want to suck your cock. And then,” blushing, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Castiel backs away and Dean is instantly cold, goosebumps rising along his arms. But it’s ok, because Cas is stripping, faded t-shirt going first, then his jeans, then his underwear and socks. When he’s naked, he gestures to the space in front of him. “Well?” 

Dean has never hit his knees so fast. 

The first striking taste of pre-come, and Dean is aching hard in his jeans. He gets over-eager and takes too much of Cas down his throat, comes away coughing a little. 

“I swear I’m usually good at this,” Dean says, laughing a little. He glances up at Cas and Cas is just smiling, affectionately, his hand cradling Dean’s jaw with a thumb brushing over the corner of Dean’s mouth. 

“I know,” Castiel says, his voice low and dirty in contrast to the look in his eyes, and Dean blushes down to his toes before guiding Cas’s cock to his mouth again. He takes it a little slower and manages to swallow and make Cas’s hips stutter. Castiel’s thumb is still at the corner of Dean’s mouth, and Dean doesn’t protest at all when Cas gives a gentle, experimental thrust of his hips. 

Castiel’s other hand comes up to grip and pull at Dean’s hair. Dean groans, half-crazy with wanting, half-crazy thinking about whether they would ever get to have that room service breakfast together. 

Castiel thrusts into Dean’s mouth a few times, keeping up that same gentle pace, and then he pulls out, hand in Dean’s hair holding his head back. Castiel’s cock has bloomed dark and heavy. “Christ, the mouth on you, Dean,” Castiel says, voice all hazy like he’s half-crazy, too. “But you better stop if you want me to fuck you anytime soon.” 

“Don’t think you can come twice?” Dean says, smirking. 

Cas laughs and leans down to kiss Dean, licking along Dean’s swollen lips, tasting himself on Dean’s clever tongue. “I’m far too old to be attempting those kinds of feats.” 

Cas grabs Dean’s collar -- he’s still in his leather coat -- and pulls him upwards. With quick hands, he shoves off Dean coat, then his plaid button-up, then strips off his t-shirt. He grabs Dean through his boxers again and is rewarded with a groan. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Castiel says. Like a simple statement, no questions asked. And even though Dean has heard it before, has heard it his whole life from puberty onward, it’s never made something shiver in his stomach like the beating of a thousand wings. 

“So are you,” Dean says, but it falls flat in contrast. 

Castiel kneels to untie Dean’s boots, and then together they get rid of the rest of Dean’s clothes. “Lay on the bed,” Cas says. “On your back.” 

Dean nearly trips over his own feet in eagerness to obey Cas. He manages to make it on his back against the pillows without injury, and his lack of grace certainly isn’t changing the look in Cas’s eyes. It’s like Dean made all the stars in the sky, careful pinpricks through a velvet blanket, like he’s some kind of minor deity on his own.

Cas comes to the bed with lube and condoms. “I bought more,” Dean says. 

“So did I,” Cas says. He grins at Dean, and Dean grins back. 

Cas crawls up in between Dean’s leg and kisses Dean, another one of those kisses that make Dean lose his mind completely. When Cas pulls away, Dean arches back towards him, begging for his mouth. “Shh,” Cas says, stroking along Dean’s flank like comforting a shy horse. “Shhh, sweetheart.” 

Dean has never let anyone call him anything as cheesy as _sweetheart_ and mean it before, but this feels ok. Feels good, if he’s honest. He can be Cas’s sweetheart. 

Cas’s cock inside him is just as good as the first time, maybe better, the way Cas has learned to read all of the hitches in Dean’s breath and trembling of his muscles. At some point they lock eyes and that’s how it is until the end, through their orgasms, and Dean feels completely strung out, a marionette without any strings. He feels fucked up on Castiel’s gaze. 

Maybe it’s that feeling that makes him say -- in the aftermath, while they are not-cuddled -- “I’m a hunter. I hunt… things. Monsters. Demons, sometimes.” 

“What?” Cas says, his fingers in Dean’s hair pausing. 

“I was here on a ghost hunt. With ghosts, you have to find the body, do a salt-and-burn…” He licks his lips. “I, nevermind. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“You believe in ghosts?” 

Dean snorts. “Ghosts try to kill me on a regular basis.” 

“And demons.” 

“I sound crazy.”

“A little.” Dean can hear a smile on Cas’s mouth. “But I’m willing to indulge you.” 

“Last week was a vampire. Just a lone one, luckily, because a nest is usually too much for one guy to take on. Before that, shit, must’ve been the shapeshifter in Louisville.”

“Cullen or Lestat?” 

“More like Buffy, I guess, but you have to cut their heads off to kill them.” 

“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to glitter.” 

Dean sits up to look at Cas, but Cas isn’t laughing, just a wry little smile on his face. 

“So you’re a… ghost-vampire-shapeshifter-demon hunter,” Castiel says, trying out the idea. 

“And other things.” 

“What other things?” 

“Once there was a mermaid,” Dean says. “That was a weird day.” 

“And werewolves, I imagine,” Cas says. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He lays back down, face pressed into Cas’s ribs again. “It’s ok that you don’t believe me. It’s weird that you haven’t kicked me out, though.” 

Castiel says, slowly, “I don’t not believe you, I guess. I believe that you believe you. Even if you are suffering some complicated delusion, I wouldn’t kick you out.” 

“Mm,” Dean says, because he should respond but doesn’t know how to. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” Cas says, “and if you’re crazy as a loon, too, I guess I’ll figure out how to deal with that.” 

Dean can’t even wrangle a noise to respond to that. A sudden wave of fatigue hits him -- fuck, Castiel fucked him well -- and he closes his eyes, just for a moment. Just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Tell TMZ I’m a demi-gaysexual. I don’t give a fuck anymore, Charlie.”_
> 
> _“You think TMZ has any idea what a ‘demisexual’ is?”_
> 
> _“I know!” Dean says, raising a hand into the air._
> 
> _“You’re drunk,” Cas says, glaring at him._
> 
> _“I still know what it means,” Dean says. “It means you don’t like to sleep with people unless they’re special. Like me.”_

When Dean wakes up, naked Cas is pressed all along his back, a hard cock nestled against his ass. It’s good: Dean wiggles back against it a little and is rewarded with the smallest murmured gasp from sleeping Castiel. 

“Wake up,” Dean says, quietly, reaching for the lube and condoms on the nightstand. “Cas, wake up.” 

Cas groans and does the scrunchy nose thing that means he’s about to flail under the covers for another hour, but Dean half-turns to grab his dick -- awkwardly, but it works well enough to roll a condom down, to lube him up sloppily. Dean is still slick and open from the night before so he doesn’t bother to do anything but shove two fingers into himself without ceremony, and then he presses backwards into Cas again, cockhead catching on his hole but just sliding past. 

“Cas,” Dean says, “Cas, want you to fuck me.” 

“Mm,” Cas says, but his hand reaches clumsily for Dean’s hip, tugging him backwards. The head of his cock catches again; Cas’s hand slips between them to line up, and then they are moving towards each other until Cas is pressed deep into Dean, their legs tangled. “Feels good,” Cas mumbles. 

“Yeah it does,” Dean says, slowly grinding himself down on Cas. “Feels awesome, Cas. You feel awesome.” 

“Eloquent as always, darling,” Cas says, pressing a sleepy mouth to the back of Dean’s neck, tongue moving over the knob of bone there, teeth grazing to make Dean whine low in the back of his throat. 

“No fifty cent words while your cock is in me,” Dean says. 

In response, Castiel grabs Dean’s hip and thrusts into him sharply. “I’ll use whatever kind of words I want while my cock is in you,” Cas says. “You’re mine.” 

Dean’s cock twitches and jumps against his stomach. “Yeah. Yours.” 

“You’re so pretty.” Cas’s mouth on Dean’s shoulder, mouthing across the muscle to that sharp spot where clavicle meets scapula. “So pretty, and all mine.” 

Dean whimpers. Something is too much. He’s not sure what it is -- sex has been so intense that it’s too much before, sex with Cas feels just a hair’s width away from too much, but that’s not it. It’s something about the way Cas says mine. It makes Dean want so badly it hurts somewhere in his chest, a place he can’t name. 

“I want you on your hands and knees.” 

Cas pulls out without preamble and Dean cries out at the loss, but doesn’t hesitate to follow instruction. Cas’s cock back in him is the best thing he’s ever felt. 

Dean grips on to the sheets, prepared for Cas to get rough, but Cas just keeps thrusting in him slow and deep, running his hand down Dean’s spine, reaching up and running his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Dean’s head, spreading Dean’s ass to run his thumbs around Dean’s hole where his cock is disappearing again and again, relentlessly gentle. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean gasps out. “Harder, please.” Because harder is easier to understand, isn’t so uncomfortably intimate. 

“No,” Cas says, and swats Dean’s hip. Dean suddenly has the vision in his head of Cas spanking him, and that’s so much he nearly comes right there, untouched. 

“Touch me,” Dean says. Begging. It’s only with men he’s like this. With women he can control himself. It’s why he prefers them, usually ducks his head away when a man is catching his eye.

Cas obliges him, stroking slowly along with the roll of his hips. It’s building in Dean’s stomach -- his hands are tingling, a sure sign of an orgasm soon to come -- and he moans, starts pushing his hips backwards to try to get more friction. “Stop that, sweetheart,” Cas says. 

Dean wants to cry. Instead he just falls forward onto his elbows, presenting, ass in the air, drowning his noises in a pillow. It’s absolutely awful and it’s perfect at the same time, how he can feel every nerve ending crying out for attention, how Cas pushes in deep and just holds it for a moment every handful of thrusts, how he rubs his fingers (too gently) along the ridge just underneath the head of Dean’s cock, working him slowly, with determination. 

But it’s not until Cas bends his body over Dean’s back and steals a kiss that Dean comes, hard and seemingly without end, feels it down to the tip of his toes. Cas groans and follows moments later. 

After Cas pulls out, Dean shoves him all the way to the edge of the bed so Dean can collapse on his stomach without making friends with the wet spot. Cas says, “Christ.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. 

“You’re so good,” Cas says, nuzzling against Dean’s face, kissing his forehead. 

Dean ducks his head, hiding his blush. Like he didn’t notice, Cas says, “Let’s get breakfast.” 

Breakfast is room service, Cas carrying the tray full of food onto the bed so they can chow down naked, just out of the shower. Dean eats entirely too much expensive French toast with eggs and -- most importantly -- bacon that Jesus may have blessed, it’s so goddamn good. 

“Cas,” Dean says, gesturing with a slice of bacon, “this is where all the good bacon has been hiding. At this hotel. It’s all here.”

“Yes, I’m certain that’s true,” Cas says, giving Dean a grin so full of sun that Dean can’t help but return it. 

And it’s easy to grin: Dean is happy, right here in this moment, eating breakfast next to Cas in a fancy hotel, not thinking at all about wendigos or witches or wraiths. Thinking about nothing but Cas. 

 

“You can stay here if you want,” Cas says. “I should be back by mid-afternoon. If you don’t have any fairies to hunt.”

“You laugh,” Dean says, “but fairies are a bitch to deal with.” 

Cas kisses him, long and sweet, and says, “I’m going to see you again, right?” 

“You just invited me to stay.” 

“You haven’t accepted.” 

Dean flops into the expensive pillows, wiggles around to demonstrate his comfort. “Baby, I can definitely netflix here all day in the comfort of the upper class.” 

Cas grins. Kisses him again. Slides his hand into Dean’s hair, down his jaw, drawing him closer. Pulls away with a nip to his bottom lip. “Let me get your number so I can keep you updated,” Cas says. 

Dean looks up from Castiel’s mouth to his eyes. “You want my phone number?” 

“If that’s ok,” Cas says. His eyes are so bright, so beautiful. 

“Yeah, o’course,” Dean says. He programs Cas’s number into his phone and sends a text. Cas’s phone makes the same ping-ping that Dean has his phone programmed to.

Cas dresses like he’s after Dean’s heart -- a faded AC/DC t-shirt, tight jeans soft and wearing thin in places, leather jacket. Dean watches with pupils too wide to be entirely innocent, mostly just drinking him in, memorizing the lean lines of his body as he moves around the room getting ready. Of course Castiel is a famous actor. He’s gorgeous and graceful and insanely good in bed and

Dean is having some feelings.

When Dean has feelings, he drinks. So once Castiel is gone, he makes his way down to the hotel bar -- a pretty nice one, too -- and starts straight in with his friend Jack. 

Which leaves him totally obliterated by mid-afternoon when Cas texts to say he’ll be another hour. Plenty of time for another drink or two, even though the barback has cut him down to just beer. Forty five minutes later, Dean stumbles back up to the room, using the keycard Cas left to get in. He collapses into the bed with his clothes still on, giggling a little as he smells Cas all over the pillows. 

Cas comes in, takes one look at Dean’s flushed cheeks and sprawled limbs, and says, “You’re drunk.” 

“You know,” Dean says, holding his fingers an inch apart. “Jussa -- jussa li’l bit.” 

Cas frowns, and Dean has never felt disappointment as harsh as Cas’s. But before Cas can comment, the door bursts open and a whirlwind of a redhead -- a different one from the Anna of the magazine, Dean is pretty sure -- throws herself into the room. 

“Any idea why I’ve got TMZ --” She stops speaking when she sees Dean. “Great, Castiel. That’s why I’ve got TMZ wanting to know if you are gay because you’ve been sneaking men into your hotel room.” 

“Just one man,” Cas says, and Dean wiggles in pleasure. “Dean, this is Charlie. Charlie, Dean.” 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, holding out a hand. Dean and Charlie shake, and Dean gets the feeling she really is glad to meet him, but maybe he’s just drunk and overconfident. 

“Tell TMZ I’m a demi-gaysexual. I don’t give a fuck anymore, Charlie.” 

“You think TMZ has any idea what a ‘demisexual’ is?” 

“I know!” Dean says, raising a hand into the air. 

“You’re drunk,” Cas says, glaring at him. 

“I still know what it means,” Dean says. “It means you don’t like to sleep with people unless they’re special. Like me.” 

Cas’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but it doesn’t escape. 

Charlie pulls out her phone and starts typing notes. “Ok, I’ve got ‘tell TMZ Cas is a big gay’ down for today’s tasks. Anything else you need while I’m here?” 

“Tell Chuck to rearrange the filming schedule so I can have tomorrow off.” 

“What? I don’t think you can just--”

“Tell him I don’t feel well.” 

Charlie’s incredulous. “Ooooh-kay, Cas. But I’m telling him to call you and cuss you out instead of me like last time you acted like a spoiled diva.” 

“Charlie, I love you, but get out. I’ve gone through all the trouble of sneaking this man into my hotel room so now I’d like to fuck him thoroughly.” 

“Ew, gross. I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” On her way out the door, Charlie throws up a peace sign and says, “Adios, bitches!” 

Cas sits on the bed next to Dean, dropping his head in his hands. “That’s my personal assistant… person.”

“She’s something,” Dean says. 

“She’s my best friend.” 

“So. TMZ.” 

“Yeah. TMZ.” Cas sighs. “I haven’t had someone in my life for so long, it just didn’t seem necessary to be out. But I guess…” 

Dean’s heart pauses. “What do you guess?” 

“Well, I met you. And I didn’t keep that secret well enough. So I guess I don’t have a choice anymore.” 

“You did meet me,” Dean says, “but we’re just fucking. Right?” 

Cas’s eyes are brilliant sapphire, holding Dean into place. “I was hoping to see you again.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“I meant… You’ll leave Austin to do whatever your real job is, but I want to see you again. I’ll have a few months off soon so I could meet you somewhere, anywhere. We could go to Puerto Vallarta.” 

“I don’t even know where that is, man,” Dean says, voice breaking. 

“Mexico.” Castiel’s eyes haven’t left his this whole time, and Dean feels himself shrinking underneath them. “I want to take you to Mexico.” 

“If you knew anything about me--” 

“I know plenty about you.” 

“If you knew what I do -- what I’ve done -- you wouldn’t want to take me anywhere. What’s going to happen when TMZ wants to know who I am? What happens then? Do you tell them your fuck buddy hunts monsters for a living?” 

“You don’t have to tell me the truth, Dean,” Castiel says, “but you can stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying! That’s the whole point! You have no idea -- fuck. Fuck, I have to go.” 

“You’re far too drunk to drive.” 

“Yeah? Watch me.” 

Dean stalks out of the hotel room and out the back door. Baby knows everywhere he’s been, knows his weapons and regrets as sure as if they were her own, and he feels blessed for that. He doesn’t need rich assholes to feel whole.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He gets a text from Cas: “I assume you skipped town by now, but here’s my address in LA if you ever make it out that way.”_
> 
> _Dean stares at it for a long time. Hovers his finger over the “delete” button next to the message thread. Then just closes it and pretends he never saw it, even if he immediately memorized the address. Anyone can memorize an address, after all; hardly a feat of intelligence._

Dean goes back to his motel, which looks particularly shabby and pathetic next to Castiel’s suite, and spends a couple hours sobering up and looking for a new case. Something that sounds like a werewolf just outside of Tulsa, so he packs up his meager belongings and hits the road, blasting Metallica and watching the sun set to his left. It’s golden hour, the perfect time to be driving, but he can’t find the same kind of road-joy he usually experiences. He just keeps thinking of Cas saying “mine,” and his own stupid response: “Yours.” It was good while it lasted. 

Dean does the seven-and-a-half hour drive in about six, speeding through long stretches of Texas plains and then Oklahoma red dirt, meeting the night headlights-on. He rents another shitty motel room, drinks the beer he picked up on the way into town, then crashes without thinking another thought about Castiel. 

Except for wishing he was pressed up against the bu-bump of a heart beating. 

 

He wakes up early, cleans all his guns, and puts on his FBI suit to question the family of one of the victims. It doesn’t go well -- the family is just about as connected as Dean’s was before John died, which is to say, not at all -- and he arrives back at his hotel room grumpy and hungry. And then he gets a text from Cas: “I assume you skipped town by now, but here’s my address in LA if you ever make it out that way.” 

Dean stares at it for a long time. Hovers his finger over the “delete” button next to the message thread. Then just closes it and pretends he never saw it, even if he immediately memorized the address. Anyone can memorize an address, after all; hardly a feat of intelligence. 

Dean finds the killer werewolf easy enough, but not before she leaves a couple more victims in her wake. He doesn’t feel bad at all when he ganks her. 

 

It’s a couple months of hunting and killing, the same ol’, same ol’, and Dean keeps being round and rolling as he does, and then he gets wind of a case out in Chico. He doesn’t usually go anywhere near that far west, but it’s only a 4 hour drive to visit Sam at Stanford, so he tells Bobby he’ll head out in the morning, don’t bother sending another hunter. 

“It’s just a ghost, boy,” Bobby says, “any little hunter could handle it in his sleep.” 

“Yeah, well. I need an excuse to see Sam.” 

Bobby goes quiet for a long time. “Shouldn’t need an excuse,” he says at last. 

“I’m taking it, ok? Don’t send anyone else.” 

 

It’s a few days’ drive out to California, long enough that Dean’s back starts to ache and his knees start cracking every time he stops for gas. He’s getting old, even if he refuses to admit it. 

The ghost is easy. Dean gets tossed into a wall and is covered in bruises, but it’s no big deal. He gets back on the road and calls Sam. “Coming to visit, Sammy,” he says, a grin in his voice. 

Sam pauses before answering. “It’s finals, Dean,” he says, “I don’t really have time…” 

Dean blanches. “No time for your big brother? I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“I invited you for Christmas--” 

“I had stuff,” Dean says. 

“‘Stuff.’ The family business.”

“Who else is going to protect the innocent public from the monsters under the bed?” Dean tries for cavalier, blustery, but Sam can see through it. 

“Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but now really isn’t a good time. Maybe next month.” 

“I’ll be back in the midwest next month.” 

“I’ll be in Lawrence just before classes start. We can meet up there.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I guess we can.” 

That night he gets so drunk he can’t remember his own name. 

 

The next day -- honestly, he’s still buzzed, which is the only reason he would do something so dumb -- Dean gets back on the road and heads south down I-5. He has a full eight hours to regret the decision, but he pops open another beer in the car and keeps driving, well into the night. It’s nearly two a.m. when he crosses into Los Angeles County. 

Castiel’s house is not what he expects. It’s expensive, sure, and vaster than any one person needs -- but it’s not nearly the monstrosity of affluence he expected from a celebrity’s home. He pulls Baby into the drive, up to the gate, and presses the “call” button. It rings and rings, rings and rings, and finally a gruff voice answers. “You have the wrong house,” Castiel says, sounding exhausted. 

“No, Cas, I -- fuck,” Dean says. Good with words as always. 

Dean is getting used to long, awkward pauses before people answer him. “Dean?” 

“Yeah. That’s me.” 

The gate starts to open. 

At the door, Castiel is shirtless and in a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips, showing off the line of hair from belly button downward, places Dean has nuzzled and kissed. Cas’s hair is disheveled, sticking up wildly on the side he must’ve been sleeping on, and there are bags under his eyes. “Hell of a time to show up,” he says. He stares at Dean like he’s thirsty for him. Like he missed him. 

“I guess it’s a little late. Sorry.” 

“Come in,” Cas says, stepping backwards and gesturing grandly. 

The house is neat and minimalist, looking like everything was bought out of a catalog. “I don’t stay here much,” Cas says. “You’re lucky to have caught me.” 

“You said you’d be here after filming.” 

Cas nods. He sits on the couch, pulling his feet up under him and resting his chin on his knees. Dean pokes at a bookshelf, skimming the titles, before sitting down at the other end of the couch. 

“So what brings you to California?” Cas asks. 

Before thinking, Dean says, “You.” 

Cas smiles. Somehow Dean had forgotten how all-encompassing that smile is, bright like a halo. “It took you long enough.” 

“Can I, uh -- can I kiss you?” 

The smile leaves. Cas looks at Dean, gravely, like he’s looking for something in the depths of Dean’s eyes. Finally, Cas says, “You’ll have to get closer to me than that.” 

“Yeah, Cas. Yeah.” 

Dean scoots to Cas’s end of the couch, grabs the hand closest to him and, on a whim, kisses Castiel’s knuckles. Cas breathes in sharply. Dean touches his face, tilts his chin so he can press a careful kiss against the corner of Cas’s mouth, and then he finds his mouth for real and they kiss for real and Cas adds tongue and Dean is flooded with something he can’t begin to describe. All he knows is it’s real, not like the rest of his life that is so full of lies, and Cas gives a little huff of pleasure and reaches up to tug on Dean’s hair. 

“Take me to your bedroom,” Dean says, brave. 

“Ok,” Cas says, getting up and leading Dean further into the house by the hand, their fingers laced together. 

The bedroom is a little more scattered, books and what Dean assumes are scripts littered about, a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. The bed isn’t made. Dean grins -- this version of Cas fits with the one he knows. “Shut up,” Cas says. “I don’t let the housekeeper in here.” 

“Housekeeper, eh?” 

“Don’t be an ass,” Cas says. 

Dean crowds into Cas’s space, kissing him again, grabbing at his hips to pull him close. This is what Dean’s been missing for months, dreaming about at night, the spit-slick movement of lips together and then apart. “Cas,” he groans. 

“Dean,” Cas answers, smiling. 

Dean kicks off his boots in between kisses, and then they tumble into the bed, Cas’s hands all over Dean’s ass and back and hair and then palming the swell of Dean’s cock through his jeans. “God,” Dean says, “god, Cas.” 

Cas’s deft fingers undo Dean’s belt buckle and then tug jeans and boxers down Dean’s thighs. Dean shifts backwards and clumsily kicks them the rest of the way off while Cas watches. Dean’s lack of grace doesn’t make Cas’s eyes any less wide or any less dark. Dean pulls off his shirt, too, and reaches for Cas’s sweatpants. They say Stanford down one leg. “Hey, I’m not just good looks,” Cas says. 

“My brother goes to Stanford,” Dean says. 

“Let’s talk about your family after you fuck me,” Cas says. Decisively. 

Cas is wearing rainbow-striped high socks, and Dean laughs as he strips them off to show Cas’s delicate arches. Dean leaves a kiss at each ankle, can’t help it, and says, “Demi-gaysexual pride?” 

“Something like that.” 

They smile at each other like no one else in the world exists. 

“Come here,” Cas says, but Dean hesitates, looking at Cas’s body spread out before him. 

“Wow,” Dean says, “just -- fuck, Cas.” 

“That’s the idea.” 

Dean kisses the inside of each of Cas’s knees, then trails more kisses up the inside of a thigh. He leaves long, laving licks over Cas’s sac, then suckles, and before long Cas is a squirming mess below him, breathing hard and clenching his hands in Dean’s hair. “I know, baby,” Dean says, “I know.” 

Grinning like a devil, he slicks up Cas’s cock with his tongue, curls it around the head, makes Cas buck upwards until Dean has to hold him down with big hands on Cas’s slim hips. Cas gasps and manages to grind out, “Dean, Dean, Dean,” and then grounds himself long enough to say, “Make me yours.” 

“You want me to fuck you?” Dean says, mostly just teasing, his tongue darting out to lick just along the ridge on the underside of Cas’s cock head. 

“Christ, yes,” Cas says. 

“Lube? Condoms?” 

Cas points to the bedside table and Dean digs supplies out from among all the other junk crowding the drawer. He thinks he sees a Harry Potter-style wand in there, but is a little too preoccupied to look properly. 

Castiel grabs both out of Dean’s hands, slips the condom down Dean’s dick effortlessly, applies lube generously and wipes his hand off on the duvet. “Nice,” Dean says. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” Cas says, glaring. 

“Maybe I want to finger you first--” 

“No.” 

Dean shrugs. He drips lube over Cas’s hole, and then he can’t stop watching it as he slides his cock in, just barely, then out again, a little deeper each time until his hips are flush with Cas’s thighs. “Oh, fuck,” Cas says, breathless. “Fuck, you’re big.” 

Dean laughs a little -- Cas is bigger -- and starts a slow, grinding roll of his hips. Cas grabs Dean around the neck and pulls him down to kiss, sucking and biting at his lips, making something take flight in Dean’s stomach. Cas could make him say things. The way Cas feels could make him say things. He doesn’t feel self-conscious at all whispering against Cas’s mouth: “I’m yours.” 

“Mine,” Cas nods, then lifts his hips up to meet Dean’s and gasps and moans and says Dean’s name. 

Dean pulls out until the tip of his cock is more pressed up against Cas’s hole than actually inside him, watches Cas’s face as he plunges back in. Cas doesn’t disappoint: he cries out in that gravel-thick voice of his and tosses his head back and ruts back up into Dean with abandon. “Baby,” Dean says, “Cas, Cas, god,” and Cas says, “Dean!” and Dean starts to fuck him hard and fast, feeling it in his abs. 

Dean shifts backwards, out of range of Cas’s mouth but getting better leverage, grabbing Cas’s legs and pulling them over his shoulders, thrusting into him until his vision starts to go black with pleasure. Cas doesn’t seem to be in a much better position, face fever-pink and nails digging into Dean’s chest.

“Touch yourself,” Dean says, and Cas does immediately, whimpering as his fist grips his own dick and starts to pump up and down. “Come on,” Dean says, out of breath, “come for me, Cas, come on.” 

Cas looks like a beautiful, wild thing when he comes. Dean drinks in the look-sound-smell-touch of him, thinks he could look at that expression of Cas’s every day. Cas says, “You’re so good, Dean, you’re so perfect,” and Dean comes deep inside him seemingly forever, dizzy with it. 

Dean pulls out carefully, looking with wonder at how open Cas is, watches the little muscle wink closed, and then he tosses the condom in a trash can next to the bed. Cas’s eyes are closed. Dean grabs his shirt off the floor -- it’s one of his favorites, but whatever -- and uses it to wipe come and sweat from both of their bellies. 

“Thanks,” Cas says. 

“You’re welcome,” Dean says, laying down next to him. 

“That was -- no one has ever fucked me like that.” 

Dean blushes, rolls to face Cas. “You’re pretty incredible yourself.” 

Cas opens his eyes and looks at Dean with such affection, Dean forgets how to breathe for a moment, has to remind himself about inhaling and exhaling. “Stay?” 

“Yeah, Cas, I can stay.” 

Cas smiles and blinks slowly, sleepily. “I’m going to bed now.” 

Dean nods. They drift off together, and at some point just before sleep, Dean feels Cas’s hand slip into his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cas takes a bite of toast. Chews. “Show me what’s in your trunk.”_
> 
> _Dean swallows thickly. His keys are in his jeans pocket; he leads Cas outside and pops the Impala’s trunk._
> 
> _Cas breathes out, a whistle between his lips. “Wow,” he says. “You weren’t kidding.”_
> 
> _“Nope,” Dean says._  
> 

Dean wakes up to the sound of sizzling, the smell of bacon. He rolls out of Castiel’s bed -- which is absolutely decadent -- and pulls on his jeans, underwearless, to follow his nose to the kitchen. Castiel is in front of the stove, dressed much the same but with another set of goofy socks on (bees, this time) cursing quietly. 

“Doing ok in here?” Dean asks, coming up close behind him. “You’re burning the eggs!” 

“I never said I was a good cook,” Cas says, sounding a little defeated. 

“Toss those out and let me make them,” Dean says, prodding Cas away from the burners. 

Castiel honest-to-god pouts. “You’re a guest in my home,” he says, “the last I can do is make you breakfast.” 

“You let me fuck you and stay in your home,” Dean counters, “the least I could do is make breakfast.” 

Looking down at brown-edged eggs, Cas sighs and gives in. Dean makes perfect over-easy eggs to go with the bacon and toast Castiel manages to make without burning, and they sit down for breakfast. “You have a breakfast nook,” Dean says. 

“Yes. Quite unnecessary, don’t you think?” 

“We’re using it now.” 

Cas grins around a mouthful of toast. “Maybe we can make a habit of it.” 

A habit. Dean actually likes the sound of that. “About that,” Dean says, and Cas’s face falls so quickly it leaves him reeling. “No, no -- I just --” 

“Say it,” Cas says, a little terse. 

“I just -- if we’re going to make a habit of anything --” Dean sighs. “I never was any good with words, ok? But I was just in Chico, and it was a kitsune. It’s almost like a werewolf, human-y looking, but they feed on pituitary glands. The claws come out and they fuck you up. There were five casualties before I got there. Before that -- Tulsa -- it was actually a werewolf. Just a kid, but she was out of control and I had to put her down.” 

Cas puts his fork down. “Dean--” 

“No, Cas. I’m serious. I kill things. It doesn’t pay much so we run credit card scams all over the country. The banks have insurance to cover that kind of thing, but I -- last night was the first night I’ve spent without a weapon on me since the last time we met. My trunk is full of guns and machetes and knives that kill angels. I’m not a good person.” 

Cas tilts his head to the side. “Go on,” he says. 

Dean pushes the last bite of egg around his plate. “I grew up all over -- never stayed in any school longer than a few months -- Dad was a hunter, too, and I sawed off my first shotgun at twelve. Started going on hunts with him. He taught me and Sammy about demons and witches and dragons and phoenixes. I’ve got so much blood on my hands, there’s nothing waiting for me but Hell.” 

Cas takes a bite of toast. Chews. “Show me what’s in your trunk.” 

Dean swallows thickly. His keys are in his jeans pocket; he leads Cas outside and pops the Impala’s trunk. 

Cas breathes out, a whistle between his lips. “Wow,” he says. “You weren’t kidding.” 

“Nope,” Dean says. 

Cas looks up at him, searching again, his eyes impossibly blue in the early morning light. “How can I believe you?” 

“I don’t know, man. But I’m not lying to you.” Dean couldn’t lie to Cas if he wanted, not the way those eyes track him, pinning him like a deer in high beams. 

“You’re not a bad man,” Castiel says at last. “That much I know about you.” 

“I’ve done things--”

“We’ve all done things, Dean,” Cas says. 

“You, then? What have you done?” 

“Let’s go back inside.” 

Dean follows him back in and they do the dishes together, silently, then he follows Cas back into the bedroom, just as silent. Cas lays down and gestures for Dean to tuck in next to him. 

“I killed my family,” Cas says, looking at the ceiling. “I was seventeen, just barely had my license. No one told me to slow down in the rain. And now they’re all dead because of me, except for my brother Michael, and he’s hardly spoken to me since.” 

Dean reaches across the space between them to Cas’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. 

 

Dean figures a nap is as good a follow-up as any to emotional conversations (god, since when does Dean do feelings), so he pulls Cas against him and they fit together perfectly even though their jeans are scratchy and all Dean wants to feel is skin. He kisses gently along the back of Castiel’s shoulder to his neck, nuzzles at the baby hairs along his hairline, murmurs things he’ll never remember later against Cas’s ear. Cas hums in appreciation, and then they are asleep, and Dean doesn’t dream about little girls begging. 

 

He wakes up alone again, but this time he hears the shower and, in a reversal from earlier, he strips out of his jeans and slips into the bathroom. The shower is huge -- bigger than even the one in the hotel Cas was staying at in Austin -- and Cas is singing off-key while he massages shampoo in his hair. 

“Hey,” Dean says, “let me help you with that.” 

Cas jumps, turning to look at him through the glass with a guilty expression. “I hope my terrible singing didn’t wake you.” 

“Nah,” Dean says, stepping into the steam. “I kinda like it.” 

“You didn’t tell me you were a masochist.” 

“You can spank me if you want,” Dean says, only half teasing. 

“Hmm,” Cas says, a single eyebrow arched villainously. “But for now… well, let me rinse.” 

Cas tilts his head back into the water and Dean helps rub the shampoo out of his hair, mostly just an excuse to touch. With Cas warm and pliant in his arms, it’s easy to forget about everything else. 

“I was going to suck your cock,” Cas says, “but to be honest, I don’t think my knees can handle tile floor.” 

“Too old for that shit,” Dean agrees, and they laugh together, which ends in a kiss, and then another. 

“There’s always later,” Cas says. The cocky eyebrow is gone and instead there’s something soft, open, vulnerable in his face. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “later.” 

They smile at each other goofily, wide and full of teeth, and then Cas spins so Dean is under the water. “Let me wash you.” 

It’s intimate, something that’s never been done to or for Dean before. Cas lathers up a wash cloth and rubs circles into Dean’s skin, starting at his chest and working all the way down to his feet, between his legs, the hard planes of his back. Dean closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch, and for once he doesn’t feel any kind of pressure to perform -- as either the desired or the desirer -- and isn’t embarrassed when Cas touches his soft dick. It’s new, and it feels special, and he’s afraid to open his eyes in case he finds out it’s all a fantasy. 

“So,” Dean says, once he’s rinsed and working on returning the favor, “‘demi-gaysexual.’” 

Cas laughs. “You said you knew what demisexual is.” 

“I did. I mean, I do. I kinda think my brother’s like that, except -- well, he’s straight as an arrow, but there’s only ever been one girl for him.” 

“Maybe he’s just in love.” 

“Maybe.” Dean doesn’t want to think about what that might mean for him and Cas. “He dated some in college, but I know he was a virgin until he met Jess.” 

“He told you that?” 

“Ah, no,” Dean says. “But brothers know. I was kind of a dick about it, actually.” 

“Imagine that,” Cas says, eyes squinting with laughter. 

“So it’s… just me, then? You’re not seeing anyone else? Not that Anna Milton?” 

“No, Dean. It’s just you.” 

Dean looks down at his feet and smiles so wide his face hurts. 

“And I’m out now. If you didn’t hear.” 

“Out as…” 

“Gay,” Cas says, scowling. “The nuance is beyond the TMZ crowd.” 

Dean watches water droplets collect on Cas’s eyelashes. “You’re -- fuck,” Dean says, then tries again, valiantly: “You’re gorgeous. And --” because he’s too ashamed to let just the sentiment stand on it’s own -- “you should fuck me. In the bed.”

“In the bed,” Cas agrees. 

They face each other again this time, though Cas curves his body around Dean like a protector, kisses all over Dean’s face and thrusts inside him slow and true. “You’re so good,” Cas murmurs, “so beautiful.” 

“‘m not -- really, Cas, I’m not --” 

“Shh,” Cas says, shoving hard inside Dean in contrast to his soft words. It makes Dean’s head spin and his dick leak. “So lovely, Dean.” 

“Yours,” Dean says, just as quiet, barely audible over the noise of skin-on-skin, of Cas’s quiet moans. Dean realizes he’s moaning, too, just quiet pleasured breaths finding their home deep in his throat. 

Cas smiles and kisses Dean. They move together a little more urgently, Dean reaching up to wrap his arms around Cas’s shoulders and whisper in Cas’s ear, “You’re real lovely, too.” 

Cas gasps, pushes his face into Dean’s shoulder and fucks him in earnest, lighting Dean up from the inside all the way down to his fingertips. Just before he comes, Cas pushes back up to stare at Dean, eyes dark, and says, “God, you’re perfect,” and then they are coming together, Dean’s cock untouched, and Cas doesn’t pull away until they’ve come down, kissing each other through the aftershocks. 

Afterwards, next to each other, Cas slings his arm around Dean and Dean lays his head on Cas’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. “This isn’t cuddling,” Dean says. 

“Same hormones as sex,” Cas says lazily. 

“Speaking of sex,” Dean says. “I’ve never had it in Mexico.” 

“Yeah?” Cas says. Dean knows him well enough to hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Maybe you can fix that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
